


remember my name

by tisapear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author is just too lazy to come up with a name for the OC, M/M, Not A Reader-Insert, POV Original Male Character, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisapear/pseuds/tisapear
Summary: You're in love with your fellow first year, the golden Miya Atsumu. You vow to make him yours.(You're not the only one to fall for the witty asshole, but you're the only one to find out justwhysuch an endeavor is completely hopeless.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu, One-Sided Original Male Character/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	remember my name

Amazing. Outstanding. Breathtaking. 

Ethereal. 

Gym clothes grey and bland like everyone else's, but his skin's already purpure, nerves dyed the color of winners. 

"Is he for _real_ ," one of the other first years hisses, quietly and full of contempt. 

Atsumu smirks at the lot of you, not at anyone in particular but the faceless crowd he just showed up real good as a whole. _You 'n me? We're not the same,_ bounds toward his twin, wraps an arm around the other's neck as he laughs, full of delight. 

His hair isn't the only gold thing about him, you realize.

You look at the third year setter, the poor dog, grimace on his face making it obvious he's aware his time on the court's been cut short.

* * *

You're confident in your skills, your spikes, your attitude. Used to be the captain of your middle school team, the unstoppable ace, got your team to nationals for the first time in eight years. People flock to you, vie for just a shred of your attention. 

Getting _Atsumu's_ attention should be child's play.

* * *

It's not.

For all his shouting and constant need for attention (thinks no one notices, that everyone buys into the 'I don't care if everyone hates me' attitude without anyone realizing disdain is just another form of attention), Atsumu is hardly approachable. 

It's less his own behavior and more the fact that you can never get him on his own. It's the second year ace-in-the-making Aran, always getting caught up in his shenanigans; it's the revered Kita-senpai, always there to clean up after him when his antics get out of hand; it's fellow first year Rintarou, allowed to call himself his friend. (Lucky bastard's in the same class as the twins, and oh, if only you'd have the option of talking to Atsumu in class, you _know_ he'd be unable to resist your advances.)

And always, always, there's Osamu. For all his talk of despising his twin's very existence, of longing for a life as an only child, he sure doesn't seem to leave his twin alone. Before classes, during breaks, after school and club activities; even if someone's lucky enough to catch Atsumu alone on his way back from the restroom, he'll just wave them off, _'Samu's waitin' fer me, 'Samu 'n me already got plans, don' think 'Samu would be into that, 'Samu,' Samu, 'Samu._ Broken record stuck on repeat, and what a terrible glitch it is. 

It's frustrating. _Irritating._ It's intriguing you all the more. You've never had to work this hard just to get someone to _talk_ to you, but like hell you'll give up now.

The harder the quest the more fulfilling the reward, after all.

* * *

The plan's foolproof. Osamu's out sick, got a fever after he and Atsumu got caught in the sudden downpour after practice yesterday, and you got two tickets for the new action flick Atsumu's been going on about wanting to watch for the entire week. 

You wait until after practice, when he's sufficiently hyped up after a day filled with volleyball. You tap his arm as he's slipping on his club jacket. You're the only ones in the changing room, the first two to finish with their cleaning duties, and you thank your lucky stars for the opportunity. 

"So, listen—" 

"Wassit?" It's sharp, and he doesn't turn to face you, fully focused on shoving his gym clothes into his bag. Well, damn, someone's in a bad mood, huh? 

That doesn't deter you, though. You know his type. Like to play up the dont-give-a-fuck persona but secretly yearn for someone who they can drop the façade with. 

You decide showing's easier than telling and pull out the tickets. And for just a second, a don't-let-this-be-my-imagination moment, as his gaze catches sight of the yellow writing printend on the background of the tickets, his eyes light up. 

(Weirdly, you think this is what it must feel like to be Osamu. You don't dwell on the thought.) 

He lets his bag clatter onto the bench as he excitedly turns to you. "Yer gonna watch it too?! The trailer was _so_ cool, wasn't it! I'm so pumped to go an' watch it, I had ta needle 'Samu fer _hours_ 'n I owe him sooo many favors now, but he finally gave in after I—" 

He frowns, stops mid-rant, and you flick your eyes up to meet his. (His mouth's really red, isn't it, lips so pink and shiny, constantly wets them when he's animated.) 

"Gotta go," he sends your way, a mindless afterthought, and is out the door before you can even attempt a protest. 

You blink at the closed door he disappeared through, then stare at the tickets in your hand. 

Maybe he has an important appointment he can't miss. You'll try again tomorrow.

* * *

The next day Osamu's back. Still forced to wear a face mask as a precaution, but definitely back to his fulltime occupation as Atsumu's shadow. 

You don't get to try again. 

You throw the tickets away. What a waste of money.

* * *

Monday of the following week and Atsumu can't stop talking about how _awesome_ and _badass_ the movie was, and, oh weren't the special effects just the _coolest_. When Osamu throws in that it wasn't _that_ good, Atsumu turns to his twin and goes, "Don't ya dare act all cool 'n collected now, ya were just as slack-jawed as me the entire time!" 

Of course. He went with Osamu. You don't know why you expected any differently.

* * *

It's the first time _he's_ approached _you_. 

"Just tell me how ya want 'em, 'kay?" Volleyball propped up on his hip, smile lazy and delicious, and you nod, vocal cords suddenly completely useless. 

_You're amazing. You're made for greater things. I admire you. You and me could be unstoppable. I **will** make you mine._

But that's nothing he hasn't heard before, generic words no less true after mindless repetition but still undeniably _boring_. 

You don't want to be boring. Not in his eyes. He's never said your name before and you'll make him remember it. 

(Spell it out syllable for syllable, a breathless no-space whisper falling from his pouty lips.)

* * *

Nothing works. Even if you manage to get some one-on-one time with him. He'll shut down any and all conversations during quick practice, _concentrate on yer spikes,_ he's horrible at small talk ("It's pissing cats and dogs and yer askin' if I think the weather's nice?") and even bringing up recent movies will just get you a blank stare. (So what was _up_ with all the excitement about that stupid action flick?) 

The only time he pays you any attention is when you offhandedly remark to one of your teammates, "You know, Osamu's actually just as good at setting as Atsumu, isn't he?" because obvious bias aside, Osamu _is._

You didn't think he was listening in, that he'd be able to hear you over the sound of teenage-boy-panting and gym-shoe-squeaking, but the words have barely left your mouth when Atsumu's stare is already pinning you down, blazing anger and smoldering ashes, and you fear-anticipate-hope he'll pounce on you any moment. 

But then he catches sight of Osamu's derisive smirk and instantly changes targets, lungs at his brother and honest-to-god starts strangling him right then and there, in the middle of practice on the gym floor. 

The captain starts frantically shouting at them to stop this instant, Kita sighs tiredly, Aran groans and Rintarou pulls out his phone, instantly on the task of recording the entire thing for generations to come. (Or his tik tok. You know he has one, mostly uploads videos of the twins' shenanigans, because you've downloaded every single one that includes Atsumu.)

For your part, you're kinda disappointed, because however grotesque the image might be, you do kind of wonder what his hands would feel like wrapped around your throat. 

(He's got setter hands, he knows exactly where to apply pressure.)

* * *

Autumn's always been a nice companion, you think as you slink back toward the gym. Forgot your damn water bottle, and usually you wouldn't mind, but you and some friends planned on hitting up the arcade and you're not too keen on spending money on overpriced drinks. 

Soft voices become audible the closer you get to the open gym door, low and not discernible, but you don't think much of it; some kids like to hang around the school grounds until late into the evening, get in some extra practice for club avticities or have an easy excuse not to go home just yet.

You step into the doorway without looking and barely manage to keep yourself silent. 

A gasp is clawing at your teeth and you swallow it down, scratches painfully against your tongue.

 _Close._ They've always been close. They're twins, have shared the same passion for a good ten years now—it's not weird that they're attached at the hip. And it's not like they _make_ it weird, you would have noticed by now; no eye-fucking across the court or illicit touches that can't be excused by regular sibling-closeness. Their constant cat-and-dog fights add to that, too, no way they'd—not with fights like _those._

(But they're teenage boys, but they're adolescence athletes brimming with adrenaline and aspiration, but sexual tension's a thing—)

Thighs and shoulders touching as they laze around on the gym floor, foreheads pressed together, hair tousled and tangled and if you squint and angle your head just right, you can catch the glint of the light in their still practice-damp hair—

Osamu's the one who spots you. 

Even if Atsumu didn't have his back turned to you, Osamu's always been the more observant of the two. 

A lazy flick of his eyes, gets stuck on your ramrod figure frozen in the doorway as he noses at the side of Atsumu's cheek. He blinks at you and for a moment you think he might—

What, put some distance between them? Call out to you? _Listen, 's not what it looks like,_ uncomfortable laughter followed by over-the-top assurances, _gee, wouldn't it be awkward if yer went home believing we were—ya know?_

He doesn't. Just smirks at you, an expression reserved for predetermined victors, chosen before the fight ever began. Presses the surefire knowledge that he's got nothing to worry about into the curve of his twin's ear.

You're almost surprised at how unsurprised you are.

(Because apparently you're blind and an idiot and kind of really stupid, but at least you know how to reflect. It's not like they make it obvious, like they have any tells—but with this new information, well. Certain things start to add up, especially Osamu's constant hovering, Atsumu's downright clingy demeanor; _hey, 'Tsumu, oi, 'Samu._ ) 

Nose glides down the side of Atsumu's face, and you'd have probably missed it if you had blinked. A second-flicker-exhibition of shame, secret-revelation that would have been accidental had Osamu not _known_ you're right there. 

Gods above, if only you had blinked. 

Lips on lips, perverse in its innocence; bizarre distortion of a childlike expression of love before Atsumu nudges his twin away, laughs, not in the least uncomfortable but almost _giddy_. 

"Gee, not 'n public," he complains, but there's warmth in his face. 

"Ain't public," Osamu says, doesn't look your way but you know the words are directed at you. 

_This right here, it is not for you._

You're just an intruder, barged your way into business you have no right interfering with, and, well, they did always say curiosity killed the cat.

Osamu grabs his twin's hand, presses their palms together and spreads his fingers until they're perfectly aligned with Atsumu's. "Gonna show me again just how skilled yer are with ten fingers when we get home?" Osamu murmurs, and the traitorous autumn breeze delivers every word as if it was whispered into your ear. 

Atsumu's grin is bright and predatory when he answers, your biggest fantasy for weeks come to life, your unexpected worst nightmare come true.

"You betcha."

* * *

You avoid both of them the next morning at practice, and it's easy, since you're not a starter and Atsumu never notices you anyway, despite your numerous attempts. Some of the other first years throw you curious glances, and the captain does, too. Yet Atsumu himself stays perfectly unaware, lost in the bubble that only fits him and his twin inside.

Despite your best attempts otherwise, Osamu still manages to catch your gaze at the end of practice.

Lips carefully moving, clearly trying to mouth something at you. You're not good at reading lips, only tried it out back when you and some kids from the neighborhood were in your spy phase, but you think you know what he's trying to tell you anyway. 

A Miya's finally remembered your name. 

You'd rather he didn't

**Author's Note:**

> you, a fool: you are aware that you can write a fic where osamu is _not_ ridiculously possessive of his twin ri—
> 
> me, an intellectual: no ❤️
> 
> inspired by the ninth pic in [this gorgeous post](https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/85354701) and my wife who, after I showed the pic to her, threw some lyrics of mike posner's 'cooler than me' at me with the excuse of 'don't you think they fit?'
> 
> she's a terrible enabler, especially when she's not even trying to be one


End file.
